


Bats at High Society Functions

by deenowr



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Fluff, Gen, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deenowr/pseuds/deenowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as Bruce prefers his Batman persona to 'Brucie' Wayne, notorious playboy billionaire of Gotham; he still has to keep up appearances and pretend he's something he's not. And although he got used to it as the years go by, it doesn't mean that his boys adjusted as easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bats at High Society Functions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, I've been very inactive lately and I apologise for that. I'm unsure whether to continue 'Trying to Deal', but I am writing up a few drabbles here and there. Just have to post it, so here you go.   
> This chapter concerns Dick and Jason first. Next chapter will be about Tim and Damian.   
> These are basically my headcanonss about what it was like for them to attend these kinds of functions where the biggest, slimiest and richest Gothamites attend. Enjoy!

Bruce hated high society functions ever since he was old enough to see for himself and understand what exactly ‘high society’ meant.

In Dick’s words, people that were ‘deluded by fame and fortune’.

In Jason’s words, ‘privileged, rich bastards’.

Bruce’s second son was scolded by Alfred for the usage of ‘true but crass, vulgar and quite unbecoming language’. Jason had argued (as much as one could argue with the butler back then and even now) but he was careful with his words ever since. No one dared defy Alfred Pennyworth.

But secretly, Bruce had to agree.

He wouldn’t say it out loud because he was clumsy with his words when it came to children (especially Jason who was so unlike Dick but Bruce held just as dear, if only he could see it) and God knows what Alfred would do to him if he managed to influence Jason in that area.

-0-

He was six years old when his parents brought him to one of the functions. It was a gala. One that was held for charity.

“Oh, Martha, Thomas! It’s so wonderful to see the both of you. And you brought Bruce too! How old are you now, you cute little cherub?” The woman trilled in front of him.

Bruce would have answered her but she was pinching his cheek hard as if she was attempting to take it off; and her long, manicured nails were in danger of poking him in the eye. The jewellery she adorned shimmered and gleamed as she moved and nearly blinded him as it is.

“He’s six now, aren’t you, Bruce?” Martha answered, looking down fondly at her son.

He nodded wordlessly and moved closer to his mother’s legs – which was just as well, since the other woman didn’t seem to care for the answer. Instead, she engaged herself into a conversation with Thomas Wayne and completely disregarded the other two.

And then Martha was approached by another man and he didn’t even acknowledge Bruce’s presence. Bruce would have walked away like any other curious six year old and probably make his way to the dessert table but he saw a gleam in the man’s eye and the way he stood too close to Martha, who seemed comfortable but was, in fact; not.

So he hovered close between the two anxiously and looked out of the corner of his eyes at the women surrounding his father and laughing almost flirtatiously, if one wouldn’t know any better.

Between protecting his mother from male advances and keeping an eye on his father who looked like he longed to return to their side but kept getting ambushed, Bruce did not have much of a good time.

“Is it always like that, Mother?” Bruce asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly when they were finally in the safe confines of his father’s car.

His father chuckled, exchanging an amused look with his mother through the rear view mirror. Thomas’ wife was currently sitting at the back with their son’s head in her lap.

“Like what?” Martha replied, stroking Bruce’s hair.

“Like…” Bruce scrunched up his face, trying to find the words, “They acted… strange. Abnormal,” Bruce pronounced, liking the way the word rolled off his tongue. It was a word he came across in one of the books he read and he hadn’t had the chance to use it yet.

“Well, you’re not wrong there, Bruce. But maybe the word you’re looking for is ‘pretentious’,” Thomas spoke up from the front.

“What’s – what’s that? Pre… pretentious,” Bruce repeated, trying but failing to cover up his yawn.

“It’s when you do something to impress other people,” His father explained solemnly, almost grimly.

“Is it bad?” Bruce asked. His tired mind tried to wrap around his father’s elaboration but he still didn’t understand fully. He might have to refer to Alfred tomorrow – the butler was good at making difficult things become much simpler. A good teacher.

“It’s not bad, but it’s not good either,” This time, his mother replied, “you’ll be very sad if you always have to live up to people’s expectations, Bruce. Do something with a good heart, and you’ll be happier that way,” Martha said.

It was a short conversation, and Bruce said no more after that – but he would still remember it for years to come. The sticky, uneasy feeling in his chest was always present whenever he had to attend functions of the sort.

He hated the way the guests eyed his mother and father and even each other, he hated the fake laughs and jokes that were flung about, he hated the wealth that was flaunted around, and he especially hated the double talk; almost social manipulation that went around.

It was no surprise to find that all his children had the same problem.

-1-

“Do I really have to go?” Dick asked, the beginning of a pout forming on his face.

He looked pleadingly at Alfred as the old butler straightened out the suit specially measured and tailored for the young boy out on the bed. Dick eyed the formalwear with visible distaste. It was plain and simple, with a clip-on bow tie. Blue, which was Dick’s favourite colour at the moment.

Dick was used to wearing clothing that was simple yet served its purpose of giving comfort to the wearer and allowing maximum flexibility and movement. He didn’t like the suit that he had to wear, although he appreciated that Bruce had gone to lengths trying to find a comfortable material that suited his needs.

“I’m afraid that it is a requirement, Master Dick,” Alfred replied, and that was his way of saying ‘yes, you have to’.

“But, Alfie, it’s… it’s so…” Dick bit his lip when Alfred turned to him, “it’s so _boring_ ,” he finished with an unhappy groan.

“I’ll have to admit that there aren’t many kids there – but the Drakes will be bringing their son. He’s a few years younger than you, but I’m sure you’ll be friends,” Bruce said, striding in with his tie in his hands.

Alfred dutifully bustled over to him and helped Bruce put on the tie neatly; something that Bruce still struggled with at times.

“Really?” Dick seemed to perk up for a moment eagerly, before he seemed to remember that he was supposed to convince the two adults to let him stay home and his face fell again.

“But… but what if he doesn’t like me?” Dick whined. When that didn’t seem to work (and it didn’t, because almost all kids loved the famed Richard Grayson from the Flying Graysons and admired his circus tricks), he tried another last attempt, “And anyway, the food’s not as nice as Alfred’s cooking,” he said.

That tugged the corners of Bruce’s lips into a small smile. Alfred was proud of his cooking and made sure that the two always received healthy, nutritious meals – that particular sentence was obviously used to inflate Alfred’s ego and maybe win him over.

“Thank you for the compliment, Master Dick, but I’m sure you’ll find the buffet quite satisfying – and if you don’t, I’ll prepare something for you when you return,” Alfred replied, and he looked amused.

“I’ll start the limousine, Master Bruce. Master Dick, I hope to see you dressed in that suit properly. I’m sure Master Bruce will be happy to aid you,” Alfred announced, and with a small bow he departed from the room.

And that was his way of saying that Bruce should talk to Dick and find out what was really the matter – another step towards father and son bonding that Alfred prioritised.

“You’re hiding something, Dick. What’s the problem? It’s not the suit, is it?” Bruce asked conversationally, as he helped Dick into the attire.

Dick sighed as he buttoned up the stiff, collared shirt and glancing at the mirror with an unsure look. When his measurements were being taken by the tailor, he was trying to convince Bruce to let him have sequins and glitter all over his suit – and he was hinting that feathers would make him look good too. Something that made Alfred look almost stricken.

“No, it’s not. But I’d like it to be a little more showy,” Dick admitted with a rueful grin, “it’s just that…” Another heavy sigh emitted from the boy’s lips as Bruce helped with his bowtie, but Bruce waited patiently; knowing full well that Dick would tell him in due time.

“I don’t like the people there,” Dick confessed.

“Oh?” Bruce asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. They’re so… they’re not – they’re not a good audience,” Dick said, stumbling on his words.

“They’re not a good audience,” Bruce repeated.

Bruce understood what Dick was trying to get at although it has just been a few months since Dick joined him and Alfred at the Manor. He was a bit confused at first with the expressions and Dick’s way of talking – but soon got used to it.

“No, they’re not. I think, Bruce… I think they don’t like me,” Dick said.

Bruce’s hands stilled for a millisecond before he attempted to adjust Dick’s collar and kept his voice even as he continued the conversation.

“What makes you think that?” Bruce asked, his voice betraying none of the anger and protectiveness he was feeling.

“I’m half Romany, Bruce. And usually people don’t like circus folk like me that much. They like watching us on stage but… they don’t like us when we’re off stage,” Dick stated plainly.

And the accepting way Dick seemed to say it hurt Bruce more than he showed.

“…Dick, it doesn’t matter what people think of you. In fact, I think you’re worth more than the whole three hundred charity ball guests combined, chum, no matter their status and wealth,” Bruce said honestly.

“Really?” Dick asked, and the hope that glimmered in his eyes as he looked up at Bruce made the older man smile warmly.

“Really,” Bruce said firmly, “I know that sometimes, words that other people say can be hurtful and you can’t help what comes out of their mouths. But it’s your choice to take it to heart or ignore it. You have to be proud of your roots; they make you who you are, so who cares what ‘they’ think? I think you’re fine the way you are,” he finished.

At that, Dick blushed and ducked his head almost shyly; looking up at Bruce through his bangs.

“Aw, shucks, you’re laying it a bit too thick, Bruce,” he said, but it seemed to do the trick. Any insecurity the boy had earlier went flying through the window.

“Now what say you we hop in the limo? Alfred won’t be pleased if we’re late. He might skip out the hot cocoa tonight,” Bruce said.

“Race you there!” Dick cried out with a laugh, already running out of the room.

Bruce chased after him, satisfied that the boy was himself again. He knew that there was some unpleasant gossip regarding his adoption, and also some more talk concerning Dick’s roots and he made up his mind to keep Dick as close to him as possible.

And, who knows, maybe Dick can act as a repellent towards those pesky wannabe-Mrs Waynes and those arrogant assholes who thought Bruce would be interested into becoming their best-friend-who-gives-you-money-on-a-regular-basis.

-2-

Jason, as quietly predicted by Bruce, absolutely hated and _loathed_ these kinds of functions.

“You lookin’ to start a fight, old man?” Jason asked angrily.

Jason didn’t raise his voice to a high volume, thank God. At least it showed that he could be obedient and mindful of himself if he wanted to and that Bruce’s earlier pep talk in the limousine (accompanied by hums of agreement from Alfred) worked… somewhat.

But Jason did manage to surprise Bruce.

This was the fourth function they had to attend in less than a month; yet Jason showed no signs of ill-behaviour in the first three functions Bruce attended with him.

In fact, he was quiet and reserved and even answered questions directed at him in short but steady answers. Bruce was sure that Jason would fling his bowl of salad at the next person that cooed and asked him how he felt about being adopted by Bruce, but he didn’t.

One of the things that Bruce realised regretfully later in the years to follow just how much he underestimated and didn’t understand Jason.

“What – how dare… you insolent pup!” Lincoln March cried out, his moustache bristling furiously and his face red.

They had managed to draw almost the whole ballroom’s attention by now, and even the musicians had stopped in the middle of their playing, looking uncertain.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not the one makin’ stupid stuff up about things I don’t know! If you got something to say, say it to my face,” Jason said, and there was a goading edge to his voice that made the host of the event turn and alarming shade of purple.

After that, Bruce couldn’t be sure what March would have done if he was given the chance – he had clenched his meaty fists and looked like he wanted to slap the younger boy, but Bruce immediately planted himself between Jason and the other man.

Knowing full well that he had to defuse the situation as soon as possible and at the same time, handle his angry ward and the outraged host; he turned to the younger one first. He was careful to arrange his face into a frown and yet keep his eyes gentle as he addressed Jason.

“Jason, that isn’t any way to talk to Mr March who so graciously invited us to this wonderful event he hosted,” Bruce chided him, choosing his words carefully.

He knew that Jason was angry and frustrated and he was still too young to properly control his emotions - he could roar and rage and Bruce wouldn’t be surprised.

But Jason, thankfully, backed down.

The boy was still seething underneath the surface, but Alfred had taught him well enough even with the little time they had – Jason cast his eyes down in what looked like shame.

“…Yeah, you’re right. Dad,” Jason said, this time meeting Bruce’s eyes.

And Bruce couldn’t help the surprise at the label that Jason had chosen to give him at that particular moment.

‘Dad’.

A rush of pride filled his heart almost fleetingly before he tried to subdue it.

There was an unreadable look in Jason’s eyes that Bruce knew would be a topic of conversation later when Alfred had picked them up.

“I’m sorry, Mr March. What I said was stupid and I wasn’t thinking straight,” Jason apologised. His tone was a bit stolid and stiff, but otherwise he did say sorry.

Lincoln March narrowed his eyes as he stared down at the boy, clearly unhappy with the apology given – but Jason was unblinkingly meeting his gaze straight on and there were already murmurs in the crowd.

About biased people and how they seemed to think the worse of the poor young boy when he already begged for forgiveness, and how heartless could March be? But he was a politician, and that just goes to show…

“You’re forgiven, boy,” March answered shortly, and Bruce couldn’t help but heave an internal sigh of relief.

The party returned back to normal, but there were more than a few glances in Bruce and March’s direction – Jason, who had lost patience with the guests that Bruce had to ‘catch up’ with had long gone to the buffet table to stuff his face with food.

Even after an episode, he could still think of food; Bruce thought to himself.

But the man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Lincoln March said or did to set Jason off like that – especially since Jason seemed alright the first hour of the party even if he kept getting ambushed by Bruce’s pursuers who thought they could use Jason to get to Bruce.

He found out later when the party was over and the both of them waited at the entrance to the ballroom for Alfred. It was raining heavily outside, and there was a long line of expensive cars that waited to pick the guests up. Alfred was a bit further at the back of the line, Bruce saw.

“I didn’t mean to blow up just now,” Jason said frankly, after Bruce had firmly say goodbye to a group men that was intent to induce him to join in on their business proposal.

“You didn’t mean the apology either, did you?” Bruce replied, an almost mischievous twinkle in his own eyes. It hasn’t been a full month since he had took Jason in, and they were both still struggling to try to understand each other’s quirks.

Bruce hoped he didn’t come off as intimidating as he usually did with children even without the Batman persona, because he didn’t want Jason to see it as a scolding of some sort – but thankfully, Jason seemed toget his teasing.

“Nah, I didn’t,” Jason said with a small smirk, “he didn’t deserve it,” he added.

“What’d he do to get at you, Jason?” Bruce asked, because he was curious to know what made Jason react as badly as that.

Jason didn’t look at Bruce this time round, but instead kept his eyes on the misty grounds of the area. Bruce thought he wasn’t going to answer it and would have left it at that, but Jason spoke up after a few more seconds of silence.

“You really don’t know?” Jason asked, looking at the taller man with a mixture of surprise, curiosity and what looked like amusement and pity. Wow. That was a lot of emotions for Bruce to take in.

“No. Should I?” Bruce rumbled back in reply.

“…I thought being the world’s greatest detective would make you smarter, B,” Jason replied teasingly.

Bruce raised his eyebrows and had a million and one retorts at that, but Bruce knew he had the capability of being dense from time to time – especially when it came to social relationships; something that Jason could beat him at hands down and something Alfred despaired over.

“You’ve got ladies falling all over you, B – but you don’t bring even one of ‘em home and you’re not even dating anyone. But you adopted Dick and me. I appreciate that, don’t worry. I like you and Alfie. It beats living in Crime Alley,” Jason said honestly, “but people talk, B. Because it _is_ a bit weird, you gotta admit that,” he said.

And that… that was… Bruce felt furious. And more than a little embarrassed with himself.

“I would never...” Bruce began, his voice dark as if it was promising a world of pain.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jason said plainly, “you’re not like that, B-man. And anyway, there’s _Catwoman,”_ Jason added in a whisper of apparent distaste and what sounded like envy.

And before Bruce could come up with an answer to any of that cheeky remark, Jason was off running towards the limo as Alfred pulled up.

“C’mon, _Dad._ I’m sick of this monkey suit I’m wearing,” Jason called out as Alfred sighed at him disapprovingly.

Oh. So the boy did have a trick up his sleeve with the label. If it was to butter Bruce up, it was working.

“Yeah? I’ll make a monkey out of you, son,” Bruce replied, running after him, and he tried not to think about the consequences if Jason could sweeten him up with just that one label that filled him with some much pride that he almost burst. 

Bruce really needed to toughen up. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear about your own headcanons about them. Seriously, I love new perspectives so don't be shy. As always, feedback is much appreciated and please leave a kudos if you enjoyed it. I'll post the next chapter if I do get a few readers.   
> Until next time!


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